SETTING A TRAP
When the boys had at length gathered around the table in the
old-fashioned kitchen of the Warren cottage and had drawn the
window-shades, they proceeded to examine the box. It was an ordinary
shallow tin box, such as a business man might keep odds and ends of
papers and cash in. It was fastened with a small padlock. After trying to
unlock this with every key they could find in the house, and without
success, young Joe produced a file, and with this filed through the small
staple in the box.
When the cover was thrown back there was disclosed a layer of fine
cotton, like jewellers’ cotton, and when this was lifted out there came
from the box a myriad of tiny flashes of light. The inside of the box was
fairly ablaze. Countless little flashes of light danced and twinkled
there.
“Hooray!” cried George Warren. “We have the stolen jewels, and no
mistake. Just see how these sparkle.” And he lifted up a necklace of
diamonds, that blazed in the light of the lamp like a ring of fire. They
sparkled and gleamed like little stars, as the boys passed them from hand
to hand.
“Mercy on us!” cried a pleasant voice, all of a sudden; and Mrs. Warren,
who had been awakened by the sound of their voices and had hastily
dressed, entered the kitchen. “Is this den the cave of the forty
thieves?” she asked, smiling, and then, as she caught sight of the
glittering gems, she exclaimed, anxiously: “Why, boys, what on earth does
all this mean?”
“It means, mother,” answered George, “that Henry Burns has done what the
detectives have been trying to do ever since the robbery at Benton. Here
are the stolen diamonds, and Henry will take them to town to-morrow and
claim the reward.”
“Only on one condition,” interrupted Henry Burns. “I don’t stir one step
to secure the reward until it is agreed that it shall be evenly divided
between us all. You fellows have just as much claim upon it as I, and,
unless every one of you solemnly swears to take his share, I shall never
take one cent of it.”
And every one of them knew that he meant exactly what he said.
Early next morning Henry Burns and George Warren stood upon the wharf,
awaiting the arrival of the boat for Mayville. The boat connected there
with a train that would arrive in Benton during the forenoon. Henry Burns
carried in one hand a small satchel.
“I had hard work to persuade old Witham to let me go,” said Henry Burns.
“He didn’t see what I wanted to go poking off to Benton for. Said I
better stay here and save my money. As it is, I’ve got to go and call on
an aged aunt of Mrs. Carlin and spend the night there. Well, I guess I
can manage to amuse myself, even there. I’m likely to see a few other
people before I get back, eh, George?”
“I know one man who won’t turn you out-of-doors, when you produce those
diamonds,” answered George.
“Well, George,” returned the other, “you mustn’t lose sight of this
stranger, although I almost know he won’t attempt to leave the island for
several days. I remember that yesterday he got a letter, and I have no
doubt it was from his confederates, saying when they would arrive. They
are coming in a sailboat, for he has said so. Now, if they were coming
to-night or to-morrow, he would not have hidden that box over there in
the old house. You may be sure he did not expect them for a day or
two,—but still you boys must keep him in sight, for one never knows what
is going to happen.
“If he goes over to the bluff, you know what to do. You must get Captain
Sam, the constable, to have him arrested at once. By to-morrow night I’ll
be back with everything arranged to capture the whole three. I think you
and I will see lively times around this harbour before many days are
over.”
“Speak of the evil one and he appears,” said George Warren. “And, as true
as I live, here comes Mr. Kemble. You do the talking, Henry, for I feel
as though I should give him cause for suspicion if I said a single word
to him.”
“Leave him to me,” replied Henry Burns. “He’s playing a bold game, and so
must we;” and, as the stranger guest hobbled down to the wharf, groaning
and wincing, as though racked with pain, Henry Burns gave him a cheery
greeting.
“Good morning, Mr. Kemble,” said he. “I see you’re out bright and early.
I declare, you have begun to look better already than you did the night
you arrived.”
“Oh, I’m very miserable—very miserable,” answered Mr. Kemble, most
dejectedly. “My rheumatism is something awful. I’d give everything I
possess in the world if I could run around and be as active as you young
men.”
“You will, I’m sure, in a few days,” answered Henry Burns.
“How’s that?” asked the man, turning upon Henry Bums sharply, while a
strange look, that he could not conceal, stole over his face.
George Warren turned away precipitately, and, taking a fishing-reel from
his pocket, dropped a line over the side of the wharf.
“There’s something peculiar in this island air,” continued Henry Burns,
looking Mr. Kemble full in the eye, with the most innocent expression on
his face. “No matter how bad a person feels when he first comes here, it
puts new life into him. The first thing he knows he begins to feel like
rowing boats, and going fishing, and all that sort of thing. I come here
sick every summer, and I go away feeling strong.”
“Well,” replied Mr. Kemble, uneasily, but looking relieved, “I hope it
may do as much for me. If it does, I’ll buy a cottage here.”
“You won’t find any cottages to sell, I’m afraid,” said Henry Burns. “But
there are several old farmhouses that could be bought cheap, and they
make over as good as new.”
“Humph! I’m not looking for old farmhouses,” said Mr. Kemble, gruffly;
and then, as the whistle of the boat sounded suddenly from behind the
bluff, he added, “But I must be getting back to the hotel. I’m not
feeling well to-day, at all.”
“Any errand I can do for you in the city?” Henry Burns called after him.
But Mr. Kemble was hobbling away as fast as he could, and did not heed.
“I fancy he would feel worse if he could see what I’ve got in this
satchel,” chuckled Henry Burns, as Mr. Kemble went on toward the hotel,
somewhat faster than he had come down. “Did you notice how suddenly he
had to leave when he heard the boat’s whistle?”
“Yes,—but what on earth were you thinking of, Henry, talking as you did
to him?” said George. “It scared him in an instant when you told him he
would be running around in a few days as lively as any of us. I almost
believe he half-suspects something.”
“How can he?” replied the other. “Perhaps my remark about his running
around in a few days may have startled him at first. That was a sudden
jolt to his guilty conscience. But, upon reflection, he decided it was
only a coincidence. Then he did look a little queer when I spoke of
farmhouses, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did,” said George. “What possessed you to do it? You might
upset everything.”
“No,” answered Henry Burns. “He don’t suspect us. By the way, do you
remember how we got into this thing in the beginning?”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“If I remember rightly,” said Henry Burns, speaking with a slight drawl,
“we started out last evening to have some fun. My little chat with our
friend is the nearest approach to fun that this scrape has afforded me so
far.”
“That may have been fun for you,” said George. “To my mind it was very
much like playing with fire; but here’s the steamer. You’ve got my note
of introduction to father?”
“Yes, I’ve got everything all right. Now keep your eyes open and expect
me to-morrow night.” And Henry Burns crossed the gangplank to the
steamer.
The train from Mayville to Benton reached its destination at eleven
o’clock, and at that hour in the forenoon Henry Burns walked briskly out
of the station. Half an hour later he stood in the waiting-room at the
wealthy banking-house of Curtis & Earle.
“Well, what do you want, young man?” asked an important and decidedly
officious attendant, bustling up to him.
“This is Mr. Curtis, I presume,” answered Henry Burns, blandly, but with
the faintest suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.
“No, it isn’t,” said the man, abruptly, and looking a little foolish as
several other attendants tittered audibly. “And, what’s more, you cannot
see Mr. Curtis, for he is just preparing to leave for the day.”
“But I must see him,” insisted Henry Burns. “I’ve got some very important
information for him. Have the kindness to take this in to him,” and he
handed the surprised attendant a card upon which he had written in a
clear but boyish hand:
_Henry Allen Burns
Private Detective_
The attendant took the card, read it with a grin, looked at the boy, as
if puzzled what to make of him, shrugged his shoulders and left the room.
Presently he returned.
“Mr. Curtis would be greatly obliged if you would call to-morrow,” he
said. “He is going out of town to-day.”
“I must see him at once,” said Henry Burns, firmly.
“Impossible—” but at this moment the door of the banker’s private office
opened, and a voice said: “Show Mr. Burns in.”
Henry Burns entered. He saw before him a tall, well-built man, smooth
shaven, with black, piercing eyes, and a firm, decisive mouth. He had on
his hat and gloves, and carried a light coat on his arm, as though about
to leave his office.
“You will oblige me by stating your business as quickly as possible,
young man,” he said, “as I am about to take a train out of the city.
“I see by your card,” he continued, gravely, “that you are a private
detective. I suppose you are aware that I am a busy man, engaged in
important affairs, and have no time in office hours for pleasantries.”
“If I had said an amateur detective I should have been more correct, sir,
since this is my first case,” answered Henry Burns, calmly. “It is so
very curious, however, that I feel certain it cannot fail to interest
you.”
“But will you tell me why it should interest me, and not keep me
waiting?” exclaimed the banker, in a tone of impatience. Evidently he did
not for a moment connect the boyish figure before him with any possible
recovery of his lost jewels.
“I will,” replied Henry Burns, speaking deliberately. “Last night some
other boys and I watched a man bury a small tin box in the cellar of a
deserted house. When the man went away we dug it up. I have the box here;
would you like to see it?”
Henry Burns calmly opened the satchel.
But the banker sprang up from the chair in which he had seated himself,
and exclaimed, excitedly:
“What do you mean—let me see it—quick!”
Henry Burns passed him the box, and with nervous fingers the banker broke
the twine with which the boys had secured it. The next instant he had
drawn the necklace from the box and held it up, while his hands trembled.
“They’re Alice’s diamonds, as I hope to live,” he cried, unmindful of
Henry Burns’s presence for the moment. “And the rings and the
brooch—everything—everything is here.”
“Why,” he exclaimed, “the best detectives in this country are working on
the case, but I had already begun to despair of ever seeing the jewels
again. They are exceedingly valuable, but, besides that, as they were
wedding presents to my wife from me, we both prize them far beyond their
real worth.
“But be seated. I shall postpone my trip out of town, you may be sure.
And now let me hear the story of your discovery.”
In the calm, graphic manner characteristic of him, Henry Burns told the
story of the night’s adventure.
“Splendid!” exclaimed the banker, as the boy concluded. “You have indeed
acted as efficiently as the best detective could have done. We are bound
to capture the robbers. Burton must know of this at once.”
He rang for an attendant, and, after writing a note, dispatched him with
it. At the expiration of about half an hour the attendant returned, and
ushered into the room a man of medium height, of light complexion, with
steel-blue eyes, and a face that impressed Henry Burns at once as
denoting great daring and coolness. The banker introduced him as Mr.
Miles Burton, of a secret detective bureau.
“Here’s a young man, Burton,” said the banker, smiling, “who, I take it,
has some inclinations for your line of work. In fact, here is pretty
convincing proof of it.” And the banker pointed to the box of jewels.
Mr. Miles Burton looked nonplussed. He stared at the box in amazement for
a minute, and gave a low whistle. Then he laughed and said: “I have
always maintained that luck is a great factor in detective service,
though I am ready to give a man his due for a good piece of work. In
either case, you have my congratulations, young man, for a half a
thousand dollars is just as good whether it comes by luck or shrewdness,
or both.”
The detective listened with the keenest attention as Henry Burns repeated
the story he had told the banker. He made him give the minutest details
of Mr. Kemble’s personality, at the same time suggesting features which
Henry Burns corroborated.
“It’s just as I thought from the start, and just as I told you, Mr.
Curtis,” he said. “The man is undoubtedly George Craigie, who is known
among his class as the ‘Actor,’ because of his cleverness in
impersonating one character, and then utterly dropping out of sight and
appearing as some other person. We want him on a score of charges, two
bank robberies, attempted murder, several house burglaries, and other
things. His picture is in the Rogues’ Gallery, but he has the art of
changing his expression and appearance so completely that, although I
have seen him twice since that was taken, at neither of those times did
his countenance resemble his photograph. However, I feel positive from
what this young man tells me that it is none other than he. And as for
his confederates, I can readily guess who they are. They are two Boston
men, and are, no doubt, on their way to the island now in the yacht. In
this case, we cannot act any too soon; and I shall ask Detective Burns,
who is familiar with the ground, to be my right-hand man in the
expedition.”
“You can count on me,” replied Henry Burns, with a smile at the title
conferred upon him, and who was, truth to tell, vastly flattered. “I can
answer, moreover, for several good assistants, if you need them.”
“Well,” said Mr. Miles Burton, rising to go, “I will meet you at the
train that leaves here to-morrow afternoon. By to-morrow night I hope to
have some men on Grand Island who will give a pleasant little surprise to
Messrs. Craigie & Co.;” and, bowing courteously, he took his leave.
“There’s a surprising lack of jealousy in that man Burton,” remarked the
banker, when he had gone. “He is disappointed to have the robbers slip
through his hands, and a little chagrined, I know, to have them caught
through the aid of a party of boys; but he took pains not to show it,
and, what’s more, he will always give you the credit for it when he
speaks of it. That’s the kind of a man he is. He is as smart as a steel
trap, too, is Burton, and has done me good service twice before.
“But let us not wait longer. I am going to take you home with me to
dinner, and have you spend the night at my house. We shall feel more
secure, I assure you,” he continued, smiling, “with a detective under our
roof.”
Henry Burns declined, saying he was not dressed for such hospitality, but
the keen eye of the banker had long before taken note of his neat and
gentlemanly appearance, and, moreover, liked the looks of the boy’s
clear-cut features, and the way he had of looking one fair in the eye,
with a calm but manly and courageous glance. So he waived the boy’s
objections, and they entered the banker’s carriage and were driven to the
finest home Henry Burns had ever visited.
Perhaps they didn’t make him at home there when Mr. Curtis had told the
story of the finding of the jewels hidden in the cellar; and perhaps
Henry Burns, to his confusion, wasn’t embraced by the banker’s wife, and
perhaps he wasn’t made a hero of by the banker’s two pretty daughters,
who shuddered at the story of the man in the cellar, and who made Henry
Burns tell it over and over again.
In short, he was treated with such wholesome and charming hospitality as
to set him to wondering, after it was all over and he had gone to bed,
whether he had not missed something in his solitary life, brought up
without the love of father, mother, sister or brother, in a home where
noise and cheerfulness were outlawed.
He was up bright and early the next day, and he and the banker went to
see Mr. Warren, who was let into the secret, and the reward of five
hundred dollars was, through him, placed to the credit of the boys. Then
there was the aged aunt of Mrs. Carlin to call upon, and the time passed
quickly till it was time for the afternoon train.
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when Henry Burns boarded the
train in the company of Miles Burton.
“Now,” said the detective, as the train rattled noisily on its way, “I
have been in Mayville and know several parties there, but the island is
new to me. However, you can explain it to me from this map,” and Mr.
Burton unrolled a map of the bay and island from his pocket. “I shall
pick up three of my men, whom I have ordered to meet us, in Mayville. One
of them came all the way down from New York with me to help me work up
this case. It is my opinion he traced this man Craigie to Mayville and
lost track of him there. The man must have vanished, as he has done so
often before.
“We will go over to the island to-night in a launch. Then we shall need
some one to guide us to what you call the haunted house.”
“I will meet you in the road by Captain Hervey’s house, right at the very
head of the island,” said Henry Burns. “It is the first house you come to
on landing at the outermost point. You cannot miss it.”
“But how will you get there? It is a long trip up the island.”
“I will come on my bicycle.”
“Capital! You will go direct to the island, then, by the night boat,
arriving there, you say, at six o’clock. You will see just how the land
lies, so you can tell us, when we meet again. And you will instruct your
friends to keep close to Craigie, so he won’t be over there at the house
to meet us on our arrival. We want to do the welcoming for him, and not
have him do it for us. Two of the men I shall bring are somewhat familiar
with the island and know one or two parties there; though I am not sure
they know where the haunted house is.
“One of you boys must have a boat always in readiness somewhere up the
cove, on which you say this house fronts, so that, the minute this man
meets his confederates aboard the yacht, one of you can slip across the
cove and let us know of it, in case we have missed them.
“Act carefully, and everything will be well; but once give them cause for
suspicion and they are dangerous men to deal with. I have a little score
of my own to pay them,—but that’s a long story, and I’ll save it for
another time. Now let’s go over this map, so I’ll be sure of my ground.”
When the train left Mayville, Miles Burton, with a hurried handshake,
left Henry Burns. It was a little after six o’clock when the latter
stepped ashore at Southport, where the boys were waiting for him, upon
the wharf.
“Everything is all right,” said George Warren, in answer to Henry Burns’s
question. “He was not on the roof at all during last night, for we
divided up into watches and kept a lookout from Tom’s tent. He evidently
knows about what time his friends are to arrive.”
“How is Colonel Witham?” asked Henry Burns. “Has he pined away any during
my absence?”
“Not any to notice,” replied Tom Harris, “but he has gone away, down the
island, to be gone two days. You must stop with us to-night at the tent,
and the boys are all coming over to the tent now to eat one of Bob’s
prime lobster stews.”
So the crowd marched on Bob, and found him down on the beach to the right
of the tent, presiding over an enormous kettle, which was hung over the
glowing coals of a fire of driftwood, and from which there arose such a
savoury odour of stew that, in a burst of enthusiasm, they seized upon
the stalwart young cook, and, raising him on their shoulders, bore him
with hilarious shouts three times around the fire, much to the apparent
discomfiture of the quiet Bob.
Then they sat about the fire while Tom brought some tin plates and spoons
from the tent and acted as waiter, and Bob produced a pot of hot coffee
and some bread. It seemed as though nothing had ever tasted so good. They
called for stew till Bob’s stout right arm almost ached with wielding the
long-handled tin dipper that served them for a ladle.
The sun sank while they sat about the glow of coals, and, by and by, the
moon rose slowly over the distant cape and poured a flood of soft light
over the waters of the bay. They remembered that night long afterward,
for its soft lights and its silent, mystical beauty. The moon was at its
full, and the tide crept up on the beach almost to the bed of coals that
remained from the fire and still showed red. The islands far off across
the bay seemed to have drifted nearer in to shore, and showed clear and
distinct.
Henry Burns’s story of the day’s adventures lost nothing of its interest,
told down there on the shore by the firelight and under the stars. His
account of his visit to the banker’s, and how he had gained admittance to
Mr. Curtis’s private office, filled them with glee.
“I should have liked to see him when he opened that box,” said young Joe.
“Didn’t he look surprised, though, Henry?”
“Rather,” said Henry Burns.
“And the banker’s daughters,—were they pretty, Henry?” asked Tom.
“I didn’t notice particularly,” said Henry Burns.
“Henry never does notice those things,” said Arthur, dryly.
“Oh, no, never!” said young Joe.
“You fellows will notice something, if you don’t let up,” said Henry
Burns, getting a little red in spite of himself.
Then he told them all that he had learned from Mr. Miles Burton about the
man Kemble, who was not Kemble at all, but one Craigie, and a desperate
man; and all about the plans that were now to be put into operation to
capture Craigie and whosoever should come to meet him.
The money, too, that had come to each one of them, as his share of the
reward, seemed like a fortune, while no expedition that they had ever
heard or read of seemed half so full of mystery and danger as that upon
which they were now entering.
Sometime between ten and eleven o’clock Henry Burns left them, and,
proceeding to the hotel, unlocked a door in the basement, got out his
bicycle, and rode away. In a little more than half an hour afterward he
had dismounted from his wheel at Captain Hervey’s house, four miles from
the hotel, on the western side of the island, near the head. The house
was closed, as the captain and his family were away at sea. Down at the
shore was an old boat-house, where Henry Burns left his bicycle. He sat
on the edge of a bluff overhanging a landing-place for boats, and waited
for the launch. He could see her lights already, out on the bay, and it
was not long before the little craft had come to shore. Four men
disembarked, and the launch steamed away again.
“Hello, Private Detective Burns,” said Miles Burton, laughing, as he came
up the ladder from the landing. Then he added, as he introduced the
others to the boy, “This is a rival to Inspector Byrnes of New York.
“We owe him a good turn, Mason,” continued Miles Burton, “for finding
Craigie for us.”
The man addressed as Mason was the detective that had followed Craigie as
far as Mayville.
“Yes,” he replied, shaking hands with Henry Burns, “we’ve been after him
a long time.”
The other two men, whose names were Stapleton and Watkins, also shook
hands with the boy. They were sharp-eyed, athletic-looking men, whose
appearance on the island boded no good to one Craigie, alias Kemble.
Under the guidance of Henry Burns they all set off down the road for a
distance, then turned from it and made their way through the fields and
patches of woods toward the bluff. It was hard walking there in the
darkness, through thickets and over little knolls, with which some of the
pastures were dotted, and it was nearly one o’clock in the morning when
they reached the old haunted house.
The house looked even less inviting than ever in the waning moonlight,
with its sagging roof, dull and broken window-panes, and doors unhinged.
Still, to those free from superstition and not fearful of ghosts, it
offered a sufficient shelter on a summer night, and they entered at a
rear doorway, after making a cautious reconnoisance to make certain that
there was no one within.
Then, having shown them where the jewels had been buried, and pointing
out the location of a spring of good water near the house, Henry Burns
left the four detectives to accommodate themselves to their lodgings and
went down to the shore. There in the shadow of a bluff he found Tom and
Bob waiting for him in the canoe, as they had agreed.
When the canoe grated on the sand in front of the tent, Henry Burns, worn
out with his travels, was fast asleep. So Tom and Bob, by way of a joke,
lifted up the canoe with its sleeping occupant and carried it to the door
of their tent. They thrust it inside as far as it would go, laid Henry
Burns out flat in the bottom of it, made him comfortable with blankets,
without waking him from his heavy sleep, and let him slumber on.